Break My Fall
by Cobrilee
Summary: Clarke is haunted in the aftermath of fulfilling the condition for the treaty with the Grounders. Bellamy doesn't know how to help her, but there's one thing he *can* do. One-shot, set post-2x8, "Spacewalker."


**A/N: So I'm a very new convert to The 100-I literally finished the mid-season finale the day before 2x9 aired. The idea for this came to mind immediately after the screen went dark and the credits started to roll. I'm already enjoying being part of The 100 fandom and hopefully this is only my first of many Bellarke stories. Thanks go to the amazing and talented lucawindmover for the encouragement, praise, and beta work. :)**

It had been three days since Finn's death, but to look at Clarke, one would think it was just another day on the ground. Bellamy had spent plenty of time with her during those days and she was as stalwart and resolute as ever. Her eyes held no hint of pain, her mouth never trembled, no tears were shed. Bellamy found himself wishing she would break, just to let it stop eating away at her. She'd held onto the agony of watching so many people she loved die; just once, he wanted her to be able to release it and draw comfort from her friends.

He wished he'd been able to do what she did, to shoulder the burden of taking their friend's life to spare him the agony of being tortured by the Grounders. The longer he knew her the more he respected her, the more he was awed by her bravery and strength and ability to do the things that would have broken a normal human being. She always did what no one else could, _because_ no one else could. He freely admitted to himself that there was a part of him that aspired to be like her, but there was no one else quite like Clarke.

He walked into her tent, his mind preoccupied with ideas on how to take Mount Weather, and found her lost in thought. She stood over a table, staring at a map, but it was evident her eyes weren't seeing what was in front of her. He hesitated for a moment, not wanting to interrupt, but eventually cleared his throat.

Clarke glanced up at him, her eyes clearing just a bit. "Bellamy. Did you talk to Raven?"

He nodded. "She said to tell you she's close to getting that reverse frequency jammer finished. She and Wick are arguing over some of the final details, but she's confident she'll be done by the end of the day."

Clarke took a deep breath. "Then I want you to be ready to head out at dawn. Lexa's sending a handful of scouts with us to protect our position in case the Mountain Men realize what we're doing. We'll meet outside the back gate, assuming Raven can get Wick to cut the power to the electric grid again."

He gave her a half-smile. "Sure thing, Princess."

Her reaction was immediate and fierce. "Don't _call_ me that!" she screamed, her voice breaking, and Bellamy flinched. "_No one_ gets to call me that again! _Ever_!"

Bellamy held his hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry, Clarke," he said quietly. "I didn't mean…" He trailed off, not knowing how to phrase something like, "I didn't mean to remind you of the guy who loved you who you had to gut like a fish to keep him from suffering the tortures of the damned," without sounding like a real insensitive dick.

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. A tear slipped from below her lashes and trailed down her cheek, and he felt a sharp tug in his gut. It took so much to crack their warrior that when something did, he felt helpless. He wanted to beat it to death with his bare hands. Invariably there was never anything he could do because it was impossible to kill emotions.

"I didn't mean to lash out at you like that," she said after a moment. Her eyes opened again and he saw the dull ache in them, tears swimming but refusing to fall. "I didn't know…" He could see her shut down, unwilling to finish that thought. "I just don't want to be called that anymore. I'm not a princess."

"That's not why you don't want to be called that and you know it," Bellamy objected, and the ache in her eyes disappeared, replaced with a flash of fire.

"Maybe it isn't, but I don't want to talk about it and I don't have to," she snapped, turning her back on him.

He came up behind her, laying a hand on her arm. "You should," he responded softly. "You need to, Clarke. You can only carry this weight around with you for so long before you break."

"And what, you've decided to appoint yourself my therapist?" she sneered.

His jaw tightened and he tried to tamp down his rising anger. She was hurting and he was prodding at the wound, it was only natural that she'd try to provoke him into leaving the subject alone. He pressed on. "I'm the least qualified person around here to talk to you about how you're feeling." He paused. "Except maybe Murphy. But you're my partner, maybe even my friend, and I need you to be okay. _You're_ our leader, Clarke, not your mom, not Kane, and as much as I want you to be okay for you, we _need_ you to be okay for us. If you're not on your game, a lot more of us are going to die."

She whirled around, shoving at his chest. "Maybe I don't _want_ to be your leader!" she yelled angrily. "I didn't ask for this role! _You_ did, and I just had to come in and clean up your messes!"

Bellamy gritted his teeth together in frustration. "Like it or not, that's what you've become. Our people look to you for guidance. You need to do whatever it is you need to do to come to grips with what happened to Finn. If you don't you'll end up following him to his grave and you'll take a lot of people with you."

Clarke's mouth fell open in shock. "'With what happened to Finn'?" she parroted. "I killed him, Bellamy. I _killed_ him. _That's _what happened to Finn. I tried everything in my power to save him, and instead I was the one who ended his life."

"It was a mercy killing," he reminded her quietly. "You were saving him in the only way you could."

He could see the moment his words penetrated the wall around her heart, but instead of breaking down into tears like he'd expected she wound her arms around his neck. Her eyes searched his, looking for an answer to an unasked question. "Who's going to save _me_, Bellamy?" she whispered before tightening her arms and pulling herself up to meet his lips with her own.

His instinct was to push her away, to refuse to allow yet another woman to use him as a temporary reprieve from the grief of losing Finn Collins, but this was Clarke. He could deny her nothing. His arms slipped around her waist and crushed her to him, and the answering ferocity in her kiss nearly brought him to his knees.

She jumped, wrapping her legs around his waist and clinging to him as her tongue explored the recesses of his mouth. His hands immediately came up to cup her ass, both to help support her weight and to feel the firm flesh beneath his fingers as he'd imagined more than once. She broke the kiss and arched against him, grinding her pelvis against his. His erection hardened between them and he swore under his breath.

"My bed," she gasped. "Now." He wasted no time in carrying her to the cot and depositing her on it, yanking his shirt over his head once his hands were free. Clarke's eyes landed on his broad chest, the defined muscles and six-pack standing out in sharp relief. A glimmer of desire flickered there and Bellamy knew it wasn't just about using him to banish Finn from her thoughts for a short period of time. She could have chosen anyone else, certainly someone she didn't have to work closely with in the future, but there was a part of her that wanted this with _him_ even if she didn't want to acknowledge it. It would have to be enough for now.

Clarke stripped her clothes off efficiently while Bellamy shucked his boots and pants before laying down on the cot beside her, his eyes roaming her body appreciatively. He wanted to enjoy this more than he had with Raven; he didn't want to just be the body she rode to orgasm, taking little part in it himself. His head dropped to her neck and he brushed his lips over her throat, skimming along her pulse point down to her collarbone, making her shiver slightly. His teeth nipped at the sensitive skin and he allowed his hand to drift over her hip, pulling her flush against his body.

Clarke groaned as his erection pressed into her stomach and she reached down, taking him in her small hand and gliding it along his entire length. Bellamy hissed as he arched into her strokes, the tip sliding along her skin and dipping into her navel. She tried to angle her hips up to position him between her thighs, but he wasn't ready for that yet and stopped her with a firm grip on her wrist. She glanced up at him, confusion written across her face.

He drew back from her, slowly pulling himself out of her grasp, and leveraged his body over hers. Her eyes were wary as he moved down her body, dropping kisses along her heated skin as he went. He grazed his lips over her pert, pink nipples, taking one between his teeth and tugging gently. Clarke grabbed his head, her fingers threading through his hair and pulling sharply, and he smiled against her breast. Somehow he knew she'd be aggressive. It was such a contrast to her usually cool and collected outward appearance, but she'd shown hints more than once of the fire that flamed inside her. He wondered if he was about to get burned.

Bellamy worked his way down, blazing a path between Clarke's breasts, nipping and sucking at the skin of her torso, leaving a trail of heat in the wake of his mouth. She didn't relax her grip on his hair, instead guiding him as he moved lower. He ran the tip of his tongue around the rim of her navel before scraping his teeth lightly across her lower stomach.

Her lips fell open in a wordless gasp when his mouth reached the apex of her thighs. He gently parted them, spreading her open to his devouring gaze. Clarke whimpered when his tongue traced the seam of her lips, collecting the arousal that had bloomed there and drawing it upward to coat the tender pink skin. Her legs began to tremble when his tongue finally caressed her clit, softly pressing against the sensitized bundle of nerves, and she let out an involuntary cry.

Bellamy curved his palms under the backs of her thighs, lifting her up to meet his mouth. She yanked at his hair a little harder, trying to pull him deeper into her. He was intent on his purpose and barely noticed the sting as he feasted on her, his lips and tongue seemingly everywhere at once and drawing out her pleasure, his fingers slipping into her with ease. She tilted her hips, meeting his mouth and fingers with each thrust, seemingly desperately to achieve her release.

He drew back and lifted himself over her again, bracing his upper body with his arms and thrusting into her with one sure stroke. She bit her lip to stifle her cry of pleasure as he settled himself against her. He pulled out slowly before easing into her again, taking his time, but Clarke wanted none of that. She dug her fingers into his ass and pulled him harder into her, telling him without words that she wanted him to take her forcefully. Bellamy was willing to accommodate her.

He drove into her, his hips pistoning back and forth at a rapid pace, his strokes bruising and punishing. She moaned underneath him as he buried himself inside her over and over, stoking the fire that raged within. Her legs came up to circle his waist and she urged him on, arching her back to meet his every forward thrust. Little gasps were torn from her throat and he knew she was close, so he slid his hand between their bodies and rubbed her clit as he continued to move against her.

Clarke's eyes were passion-drugged as she gazed up at him and Bellamy found himself wanting to break that spell. His brown eyes glinted with a determined light, sweat running from his temple into the edges of his too-long hair, as he pounded into her as hard as he could. In the back of his mind he wanted to gentle his movements, to not hurt her, but she'd made it clear what she wanted and by damn he was going to give it to her.

Her legs were shaking and the whimpering cries were building, and Bellamy increased his efforts. His fingers were slipping over her clit and he added his thumb, applying firmer pressure. Her lips parted and he dipped his head, fusing his lips to hers as she burst, swallowing her scream to keep the whole camp from hearing. She convulsed under him and the tightening of her walls around him brought him over the edge as well. He buried himself deep one last time as he erupted, filling her to overflowing.

He rolled over, his chest heaving from exertion and sated desire while he propped himself up on his elbows. He chanced a glance down at her and saw that he'd indeed broken the spell of passion. Instead of seeing her looking at _him_, however, Clarke's eyes were vacant and she appeared to be looking right through him, seeing only the memories that haunted her.

Without saying a word, she fled the cot and began tugging her pants up her legs. Bellamy turned to his side, watching her as she struggled to dress hurriedly. "Where's the fire, Prin… Clarke?" he asked, his casual tone belying the disappointment of realizing she couldn't get away from him fast enough.

"There's work to do," she answered firmly.

He rolled his eyes. "There always is. Take a few minutes for yourself." He reached out, placing his hand on her arm to get her attention and maybe make her stop moving for a damn minute.

"I just did," she snapped, yanking her arm away.

Bellamy tried to hide his surprise and the sting caused by her rejection, but Clarke's vision cleared long enough for her to see it. She stiffened. "Do me a favor, Bellamy," she whispered, her eyes going hard and cold. "Don't fall in love with me. It won't do either of us any good."

He smirked, knowing he had to go along with the fantasy in her head of how this would all play out or risk alienating her. "Trust me, there's no danger of that, Queen C," he returned easily. She glared at him and his eyes followed her as she flung the flap of the tent aside and rejoined their people.

She would never know how much it hurt to lie to her.


End file.
